


a touch, a glance

by brushesforhands



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Johnlock, Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Short, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19174201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brushesforhands/pseuds/brushesforhands
Summary: sherlock doesnt say i love you. at least not outloud, which is fine.





	a touch, a glance

He never said I love you, that Sherlock Holmes. He wasnt a verbal man when it came to expressing affection. That's how you could tell if his intentions were true or not — it was his  _tell_ ,  his dead giveaway. No matter how hard he tried to be unreadable, the man was a damn novel. One that John had memorized up and down. He knew all of Sherlock’s quirks, all of his expressions, what hand gesture meant what, what it meant when he paused midsentence. Living with the guy had turned John into somewhat of a detective. An expert in his field.

 

Not that being nonverbal was a bad thing. Oftentimes, John was grateful; Sherlock skipped pleasantries that usually would make a conversation a hassle. There were no unnecessary embellishments. Only the truth. Sherlock would have nothing less.

 

So, as it goes, John was very aware what  _this_ l ook meant now. He had seen it before, a few times, never twice in a day, never when he expected it. Way back in the beginning, he had no idea what to make of it. Sherlock’s lips would lock, mischievously, and he would just stop moving, just to stare. It was similar to his deduction face, but less intense, and more...  _more_.  It wasn’t a puzzle he was working on in his head. The face was his solution.

 

One day it dawned on John that it was his way of expressing affection. It was a look that said,  _John Hamish Watson, what in the world am I to do with you?_ Or  _you’ve surprised me, haven't you? Do you have any idea how hard that is to do to me?_

 

It was a rare gift. He treasured those gazes. He longed for them. And it was happening at that very moment.

 

Times like these were times that John wished he could paint. Then, maybe, Sherlock could never truly end. He’d be framed for the whole world to see. The whole world could share that feeling. Sherlock Holmes thinks you are utterly  _fascinating_. 

 

“You’re doing it again,” John said, getting up from his chair to approach the brunet.

 

“Am not,” Sherlock replied, struggling to wipe the grin from his face, “you’re entirely making this up.”

 

“Well, then,” John approached, lightly reaching up to push Sherlock’s cheek towards the mirror, “have a look for yourself.”

 

Sherlock grabbed John’s hands. “Aw, sod off,” he teased. “You’re entirely too full of yourself, John.”

 

John wriggled from Sherlock’s grasp and folded his arms. “Am I? I think it’s allowed, since the world’s only consulting detective fancies  _me_ .” He knew he’d won when Sherlock had to turn around to hide his smile. John took the opportunity to hug him from behind. He pressed both of his palms flat against Sherlock’s heart.

 

That was John’s way of returning the gesture. And Sherlock absolutely loved it.


End file.
